Mundus Cerialis

by Sharon Bidwell

  The leaf was awkward to hold onto but the moment he wrapped it around him, Arnaud sighed. The rubbery texture acted as he had hoped it would but more so. An immediate barrier to winter, within moments his body temperature began to rise. If he had to stay here he’d have to fashion a better way of wearing the leaves, but there were plenty of them and they would definitely keep him warm.

  Feeling much better for having found an answer to a couple of problems, and much refreshed, Arnaud set out once again to find a way to avoid those who would kill him for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  2.

  ESMERALDA 2 WAS two days out from Mercury, and Annabelle had another four weeks’ travel to look forward to. The atmosphere aboard Esmeralda 2 was so thick she felt she could cut it with George’s sabre, which was, even now, in her quarters. If only it were that easy.

  She had returned to the flyer sometime later than the men, having got a little caught up in her reminiscence with Iris, and found them on the control deck arguing. She had stood at the bottom of the ladder that led up to the deck, in the gangway, not wishing to get involved. From what she could ascertain, they were arguing about the need to go to Ceres. Nathanial was insisting they go, that they complete their orders to enlist Arnaud, but Folkard was adamant that they continue on to Venus, as the Heart wished.

  “It is the Heart that guides this mission, Professor, not your insistence on the need for Doctor Fontaine. We can head to Ceres once we have found the minerals we need on Venus.”

  “And how do you propose we find them? I am neither a geologist nor a mineralogist; I will be of little use in that regard.”

  “Then just why are you here? Other than to hide from your life?” Folkard asked, his voice easily carrying the length of the flyer. Annabelle felt sure she heard something fall in the engine room—Mister Fenn startled by the volume of his captain’s voice no doubt.

  If Nathanial was stung by the accusation he did not show it, neither did he respond in kind. Instead, his voice as hard as steel, he said; “Because my presence was requested by Lord Kelvin, and of course there is no one else who understands the mechanics involved in solving the problem with the boiler. In conjunction with Ar…with Doctor Fontaine I will find the materials we need to combat that problem.”

  For a moment there was a deathly silence from the control deck, then Folkard spoke once more, his voice clipped and to the point. “Very well. I just hope Doctor Fontaine is worth this derailment of our mission.”

  Nathanial did not speak again until he had mounted the ladder, at which point he muttered softly to himself, “He is.”

  Once at the bottom of the ladder he almost bumped in Annabelle. Their eyes linked for a brief second. Annabelle was not entirely sure what she saw in Nathanial’s grey orbs, but it was something familiar, and for reasons she could not fathom it disturbed her.

  Not wishing to intrude further, Annabelle turned away and began moving towards her quarters. She had to prepare herself for aether travel once again.

  Two days had passed since then, and in all that time she had seen nothing more of Nathanial. He had repaired to his lab and closed himself away from all of them. As was becoming the norm for him. He had not even joined them for meals, such as they were! She wished she had taken advantage of the mess hall on Mercury—the preserved food they had for aether flight was not the most enjoyable she had ever tasted. It was barely one up from military rations, a fact Folkard and Fenn were rather pleased about, but one which she begrudgingly accepted as a necessity. Nonetheless, be that as it may, Nathanial still needed to eat.

  So now she stood outside his lab, a sealed plate containing his food in one hand, and rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. As expected there was no answer. Enough was enough. She opened the door and waltzed in!

  Well, she liked to think of it as waltzed, but any such graceful movement was encumbered by the magnetic slipper attached to her mechanical leg and the shoe she wore on her foot, which also contained magnets in the sole. Neither was very becoming for a lady, but it was either that or a clumsy attempt to float around the Esmeralda 2, her false leg weighing her down. For a moment she thought back to their initial flight to Venus, and how she and Nathanial had performed a weightless waltz in their cabin on the Aphrodite. It seemed so very long ago now, almost as if it had been two different people.

  “Food is served!”

  Nathanial was lying back on his cot, secreted in the far corner of the lab. Several books floated above him, while he considered the one in his hand. He looked over at Annabelle, but offered nothing as polite as a smile. Neither did he seem irritated by her bold entry. That, Annabelle considered, was something at least.

  “More of that corned beef hash?”

  “I like to call it stew,” Annabelle said.

  “Hmm, I seem to recall stew being made with real beef, not that tinned stuff we have to suffer.”

  Annabelle ignored him, and crossed the lab, careful not to knock the knick-knacks that floated freely around her. She assumed they were not dangerous, although at least one item looked like it could do some damage if it were to come to rest on her head abruptly. “Would it not be wiser to secure these items?”

  Nathanial raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. We will be without gravity for four weeks, and it is more convenient to have such things within easy reach, rather than having to go to the trouble of securing them and then un-securing them ad nauseam.”

  “Very well.” Annabelle placed the plate on the metal table next to the cot, the magnet underneath the plate securing it fast. She reached out and retrieved one of the floating books. “Blackwood’s Pocket Physician? You expect to amputate more limbs?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  Nathanial blinked, a look of guilt passing across his features.

  “Oh, Nathanial, please stop blaming yourself. What’s done is done. If you had not amputated my leg I very well may have died. I owe you my life.”

  Nathanial swallowed, but he did not comment further. Instead he released the book he was holding and manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, a once simple task made all the more complex by the unfastening of straps that ensured he did not join the books in floating above the cot.

  She caught a glimpse of the book he had been reading. “Naval blueprints?”

  “Yes, I am working out a way to create a more efficient aether propeller governor for our mission. We do not know where the Heart will take us, and if we happen to be sent to a moon with a gravity similar to Luna we will need the use of such a governor.”

  Annabelle nodded. That made sense to her; the governors designed by Uncle Cyrus and Nathanial before had served both Sovereign and her uncle’s old ship well on Luna several times over. “And what of Blackwood’s? I do not see how that will help you with your design work.”

  “I am trying to attain a level of efficiency in field medicine. It does seem our travels are rife with incident and danger, and this mission will almost certainly follow a similar pattern. This time I wish to be prepared.”

  “Then you should talk to the captain; I’m sure he will know a thing or two about field medicine.” That suggestion received a scathing look. Annabelle turned away and looked about the lab.

  It reminded her, in some ways, of Uncle Cyrus’ lab back in Arizona, only smaller. She had no real scientific aptitude and the devices meant very little to her. She looked back at Nathanial who was picking at his food. He had certainly lost weight since they had returned from Luna. She shook her head. That had been over two months ago! It seemed like time continued to get away from them.

  “You really must stop blaming Jacob for Edwin’s death,” she said, putting as much gentleness into her voice as she could muster. In truth she wanted to both shout at him and strangle him. “He saved your life.”

  Nathanial did not look up from his food, and for a moment she thought he was going to ignore her. But then he said, quietly; “At the cost of Edwin’s. My brother was more important.”

  “I cannot spea
k to that point. But, for myself, I am glad that the captain saved you. I am not ready for you to be out of my life.”

  At this Nathanial did look up. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard. “Annabelle, I…” He lowered his head again, but not before she noticed the tears forming in his eyes.

  She moved forward and reached for his free hand. “Whatever it is, I am here with you. Like you have always been…”

  His next words stopped her cold. “I knew what you were going through in London. I found out on Boxing Day.” He looked up at her, and the guilt hit Annabelle straight in her heart. “I knew and did nothing to help you.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “I am not the man you once knew, Annabelle… I am not the friend you believe me to be.”

  3.

  HE’D WALKED SO long his calves began to ache. Shortly after that his ankles, and he knew at once it was not entirely owing to the unaccustomed exercise. Arnaud stopped long enough to break off more leaves, to locate vines and tie them around his legs under his trousers, looping more vines around the fabric on the outside. Although distasteful next to his skin, his garments helped to hold the leaves in place and they acted like boots, adding insulation. His muscles still ached from the exertion, and he had to wonder how long he’d been walking. No sun marked the passage of time, although there was plenty of light. Did it ever grow dark in here? Arnaud feared snow-blindness, and took to taking the darkest mineral he had found out of his pocket just to look at it. Immeasurable respite came from looking at that deep, brown colour instead of something pale or clear.

  This time he stared so long while concentrating on putting one foot before the other, his eyelids drooped.

  I’m in danger of falling asleep.

  The thought held no power, and quite possibly Arnaud walked a few paces while unconscious before he came awake at the sound of his stomach rumbling. A second later and he slipped, his left foot shooting out from under him, throwing him backwards so that he sat down heavily with an oof.

  The white sandbank had given way to a solid sheet of…ice? Arnaud spent a few seconds righting himself, rubbing his hands over his face, and blinking. When he was sure he was awake and not dreaming, he knelt down by the edge of the frozen lake. At first he judged the top layer to be thin, for he could see down into clear depths, but even as he watched another strange creature came into view, one that reminded him of a cephalopod, but which had more legs than an octopus. It stopped to look at him, adhering to the undersurface. Both the animal’s action and the apparent thickness of the crust surprised him. If this was ice, it shared only some of the same characteristics as its counterpart on Earth for it looked like glass all the way down instead of growing densely white.

  Was it thick enough to take his weight?

  Arnaud stood up. Glancing back the way he’d come and then out across the lake, he weighed his options. He didn’t need to listen to know his pursuers had gained ground―he had been aware of that fact for some time. Walking across the lake—if he could manage it—might finally disguise his tracks. They would know what he had done, but if he was able to disappear into the undergrowth at some point before they spotted where, he’d have a chance.

  If the ice didn’t crack and plunge him into the icy depths first. He couldn’t swim, although even a strong swimmer stood little chance trapped under ice. In all likelihood the water was cold enough to kill him swiftly, though he took little solace in that thought. He didn’t want to drown. He didn’t want to freeze.

  “I do not want to die.” He spoke because so far this world had been too silent. “Non, I do not want to die.” This time he said it with less fear, more determination. His chances on the ice were questionable, but those hunting him were still angry enough to kill him for certain. He had to chance the ice, unless his first step knocked him on his posterior.

  Too slippery. Arnaud realised that the moment he tried. For a few seconds he was almost grateful and then he thought of the rubbery texture of the leaves and set about at once gathering more and tying them around his feet. His first step was taken with a captured breath. He didn’t slide, so he took another. The idea seemed to work, but would the leaves stick to the ice and leave a trail? Only one way to find out. Arnaud took several paces, looked back.

  Nothing. He was free and clear, and…

  His first mistake was looking down. Never having suffered vertigo, it took Arnaud several seconds to identify the sensation. Just those few paces had taken him out over greater depths and the glass surface gave him the feeling of standing on thin air. On water. He experienced something that felt like a religious epiphany but a perverse one that made him want to spit.

  His second mistake was in pausing in one spot too long. Where his weight would likely not have been an issue had he kept moving, the crust gave an audible cracckkkk, a zig-zag of fractures running out in all directions beneath his feet.

  Thought froze as solid as the landscape. Fortunately, he moved by instinct. Arnaud staggered along, throwing himself forwards at the edge of the bank. A thundering sound of splintering reverberated—one that he felt more than heard as it rattled his teeth. A great whoosh and splash finished off the explosion of sound, and Arnaud didn’t need telling that the men chasing him would Home in on it. Was it his imagination or did he hear a shout of triumph? It hardly mattered. He was up and running, pausing only long enough to rip the leaves from beneath his shoes when they hindered him, and then off again, darting full-pelt, experiencing a horrible repetition of how this endless day had begun.

  4.

  HE PAUSED OUTSIDE Annabelle’s quarters. Still he did not understand why he had told her about his lack of concern for her in London. The hurt that had swept across her face had cut him to the core, but it was too late to take the words back now. His father always told him confession was good for the soul. Once again the Reverend had been proven wrong. Nathanial’s soul had not been cleansed by the words he spoke to Annabelle, instead it felt dirtier than ever, his sense of guilt doubling its weight on his heart.

  He shook his head. The deed was done, and he could not go back now. In four weeks they would be on Ceres, and then he would be reunited with Arnaud. That would be good.

  Nathanial frowned. Assuming Arnaud wanted to see him, of course. It had been a few months since he had received a heliograph message from Arnaud, and he could probably account for the lack of contact by Arnaud’s reassignment to Ceres, but what if there was a deeper reason?

  He continued to the engine room. He was sure Jack could do with a break about now; perhaps take the rest of the day off. That would suit Nathanial well. He needed to get his hands dirty for a while, and discover what materials he could find in the engine room to use on his new governor design.

  5.

  WOULD THESE MEN never tire? They were surely fuelled by rage and to judge by their language and threats that they did not refrain from shouting out, growing angrier by the second. So much for hoping they would come to their senses. Even the cool air did nothing to tamp their resolve or abuse. If they caught up to him, a hanging might be the best demise he could hope for.

  Arnaud had no time to stop for drink or breath. The hunters sensed their prey at hand and doubled their efforts. Whereas earlier Arnaud would have given anything to hear another human voice besides his own, now he longed for the return of silence. He didn’t know what terrified him more—the thought that he could die today, in a very short time even, or the fact that these were men: possibly some he had worked with, spoken to in previous days. Fair enough that they might think him guilty, but where was the trial? The judge? His defence? If he didn’t know any different he would have said the creatures on his heels had ceased to be men. Were a pack of starved and savage hounds.

  He had flung off his leaf cloak some time ago. Running would keep him warm enough for now, and he needed nothing to slow him down. He spared a thought for the few rocks he’d picked up and that were in his pockets but as he heard, “There! I saw the sod by there now!”
somewhere at his back and off to the right, he dismissed the thought of pausing for even a second to cast them aside.

  He ran, aware he had lost his usual pragmatism some time ago and that these men had stolen his…humanity. Oui, that. He was nothing more than a frightened hare, the fox bounding behind him in pursuit. These…savages had reduced him to a mad run, gaze darting, every thought narrowed to flight, lungs labouring, burning, the cold air making his throat raw. The pounding had returned to his head, although he knew not when, only that it beat a steady rhythm so battering as to blur his vision, and…

  He didn’t notice the plant until he smacked into it headfirst. It was of the brittle type and snapped, but not before he received a good whack to the head, that knocked him on his back.

  Someone was moaning, and it took Arnaud a moment to realise it was him. He rolled, made it to his hands and knees, spent seconds deciding whether to be sick, and then as his stomach settled, let the knowledge creep into him along with the cold that he wasn’t going to escape.

  Tears pricked the back of his eyes, not owing to thoughts merely of his impending death, but of people he would never see again. His father, his brother, his Aunty Maude…and Nathanial.

  If only he had his satchel, then at least…

  Anger flared. Making fists, he pushed himself up by his knuckles and stood facing the path. Foliage moved as men crashed through it, one focus in their minds—to kill him.

  Casting his gaze about, Arnaud picked up the shard of the plant that had felled him. It was the only weapon to hand, but whether he could kill anyone with it… He couldn’t kill them all regardless. Maybe he could talk them out of doing this monstrous thing.

  He had no time left to contemplate his chances, only to hold up the makeshift weapon and brace for impact.

  The first man to break on the path had to be Cadogan, of course, but still Arnaud knew he had to try reason.